Page 4 of Player For Hire

I backed away from Iona. Little black floaters tried to crowd around my vision. “No. I’m going to find another job. I can do tech editing if I have to.”

“No, you’re going to spend this time working on that book you always wanted to write. It’s the perfect time to do it. You have a steady bank account for at least two months, and I know you, Naomi. Your savings account is more than padded.”

It was. I hadn’t made a huge salary, but I’d invested well and had sublet my apartment for a lot more than I was paying. I still had six months on my lease and it had been insanely expensive to break it and rent control was hard to come by. Any income was good income right about then.

“There’s no guarantee I’ll be able to get published. I just got fired because the publishing industry is a hot mess.” I shook my head. “Nope. I have to put my head down and get my resume out. I can work remotely so I should be able to extend my?—”

Iona stalked to me again. “No. You are going to work on that book. You’re going to do something for yourself, Naomi Taylor. Not your parents, not your stupid boss who fired you, or that idiot guy you were seeing who dumped you the same day you lost your job. What an asshole.”

I tipped my head back. I wasn’t going to cry. I was’t going to cry. “Trent was?—”

“Trent was a piece of crap.” She shook me. “He had no redeeming qualities. He didn’t even know how to get you off.”

That was enough to dry up my tears and a laugh escaped. “No. He definitely didn’t know how to do that. Just himself.”

“See?” She dragged me in for a hug. I knew I was in real trouble, because Iona wasn’t the hugging kind. “I asked you to live with me to give you some room, Nay.”

I sighed and hugged her back at the old nickname. “Aww, Iona.”

“Don’t get mushy.” She set me back. “Now you’re going to put something cute on and we’re going to go get a drink over at Lonegan’s.”

“Oh, but it’s raining and gross out.”

“It’s literally across the street. It’s ladies’ night over there, and we get cheap drinks. You’re going.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

Iona hooked her arm through mine. “Now there we don’t have a problem.”

I glanced at her chest, then at mine. “Umm, I don’t know about that.”

“C’mon. I have tons of samples from Frankie.”

I sighed and let her lead me out of my room and into hers. Where mine was sparse with the few things I hadn’t sold off in the move, Iona’s was lush and wild just like her. The walls were a dark green except for one which was papered with a big floral design in magenta. One wall was full of clothes meticulously organized in a closet built-in. Her actual closet was outfitted for her obscene shoe collection.

Iona worked for Frankie Ramos, a clothing designer from the city. She took care of selling to the shops from Central New York to Eastern Upstate. It meant she was on the road a lot, but most of her connections were around Kensington Square, Syracuse, and Rochester. She also did a lot of Frankie’s online marketing.

She bypassed her own clothes to aim for a rolling rack in the corner beside the slim window. “Frankie’s new spring and summer line has been done for a while. I’m already starting to shop out the autumn line, but I know I have something in here that would fit you. You’re a four, right?”

I looked down at myself. I was petite, but I wasn’t that small. “Not in this lifetime.”

“A designer four is a little different.”

“Doesn’t that mean it’s really a two?” I sat on the edge of her bed, braced for whatever she was pulling out to dress me in.

Iona laughed. “Probably in Paris. But for the real clothes that Frankie makes it’s made for actual women’s bodies.” She snapped through hangers. “Ah-ha. This is what I was looking for.” She swung around with a pair of stovetop pants in cornflower blue and a soft yellow top. “Perfect for the after-work people over at the bar. A little taste of corporate, but just a tiny bit sexy.” She tossed the clothes at me.

“I don’t know. This looks really high end for me, Iona.”

“It’s linen and polyester, not fine silk.” She moved to the armoire on the other side of her bed. “And even if it was, you’re worth it, Naomi. We need to get you back out there. Maybe you can even get your flirt on with someone at the bar.”

“I don’t know about that. I just broke up with Trent two weeks ago.”

“You should have broken up with him two years ago. You’re not rebounding. You were just in a holding pattern and too nice to break up with him.”

I sighed. Again, she was right. I hadn’t been happy with Trent for a long time. Not exactly unhappy, but I’d never been excited about going to see him. Or having him take me out somewhere. Not that he did that too often, unless he needed a date for one of his work functions. Having a girlfriend who worked for a publishing house was just good enough for his family’s rich blue blood.

What did it feel like to actually be excited to be with someone? To look forward to a kiss, even?

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